


Almost In Peace

by nocturneFlowers



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Implied Future Character Death, Just Really Sad Overall, M/M, Melancholy, Melancholy fluff, Possible Spoilers, angst but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:54:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26186767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocturneFlowers/pseuds/nocturneFlowers
Summary: The lighter in Jon's coat pocket is painfully solid, but Gerard's non-presence feels more real, and even if Gerard's wish looms over both of them, it feels less like an ending and more like the promise of peace.(Essentially just Jon ruminating over stuff and things, and being fluffy with Gerry while at it. It's not exactly sad, but it is pretty melancholy.)
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Kudos: 7





	Almost In Peace

It is the non-presence of Gerard that leaves Jon pained but somewhat comforted, the way Gerard's not-anymore-hand leaves no impressions on Jon's own despite how tight his hold feels or rather should feel, an interaction fraught with an unspoken scream of 'almost' that drips into a depressingly solid 'maybe'.

Jon, for a moment, thinks that Gerard's hand should be warmer, thinks of the missing-yet-there-ness of its weight, of the gap in-between them that exists yet not. The interaction a paradox in and of itself, comprised entirely of possibilities that could not have been or be, or perhaps, an infinite chain of maybes that possess only an almost-end and a tangible yet pitiful beginning.

The beginning bears form, all else only bears the ghost of it, and that in itself hurts and comforts in equal measure.

Gerard - to Jon, Gerry - runs a thumb across Jon's knuckles, and the motion feels like the way two magnets of similar poles push against each other, like a whisper of something, a suggestion of touch.

It calms Jon down, at the very least, but the ache in his heart pulses in the same beat as the flickering at the very edges of Gerard's being, his not-and-yet-so-ness crackling against reality, pushing against the thin film between is and isn't.

Jon looks at Gerard for a moment, lets himself breathe slower, calms himself down by way of following the strange almosts of Gerard's presence, the way his hair seems to almost float, the way he almost exists, the way he's almost present.

It's a bit sad, really, so Jon leans off to the side, touching his shoulder against Gerard's, and pulls their hands closer to his face.

The eyes tattoed on Gerard's knuckles are simplistic, approximations of the general image of actual eyes, and the one on the inside of his wrist, close to the base of his palm, is much the same.

Gerard is silent beside him, somehow clearer from the corner of his eyes than he had been in front of him, and Jon can't help but muse on the what-ifs, on the idea of seeing the same as he saw now always.

But time is running short, and Jon, without ever needing to be told, knows how much it hurts, how visceral and harsh and real and heavy it must feel to still be here despite being meant to be not, how tiring being alive must feel for someone who has already died.

The lighter in Jon's pocket is heavier than anything he knows, and the look in Gerard's eyes is everything he needs to know that it will end sooner rather than later.

So he kisses the black outline of each tattoed eye, counts Gerard's lashes until the number burns itself into his mind, lets the almost-real bite of a metal ring push against his hand until it hurts just enough to feel like a suggestion of its incomprehensible reality, drinks in everything that could have been had fate been kinder, and pushes away for the slippery reality of the now.

The time will come when it will all end, when the almost slips into never, and the maybe becomes definite. This, Jon is certain of, more than he has ever been of so many other things, and the way Gerard touches the space beneath his eye with an almost-there thumb burns in a way he welcomes wholeheartedly.

But now is not that time, and the lighter in his coat pocket presses against his side as he runs a hand through Gerard's maybe-hair and marvels at how indefinitely soft and dry and a little bit tangled it feels and is.

It's strange, he muses, how easy it is to love someone he has only ever met once, but has known for so long that he cannot quite let go of the beginning, no matter how empty it had been of what was now. 

And as Gerard smiles at him, curls his hand into his, palms touching but also not, then and there, Jon knows he's willing to do anything for him, even this, even that.

The lighter is heavy in his pocket.

The hand in his isn't warm.

It's almost okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I hope you liked the fic! If you want to leave a comment or a kudos, please do so, it's nice to see that people like something you've written ♡
> 
> [ Haunt my little corner in tumblr if you want to!](nocturneflowers.tumblr.com)  
> [ Or you can haunt me on twitter!](https://twitter.com/NocturneFlowers?s=09)


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